Tag: self love

Husband Experiences Woes of a Sympathetic Pregnancy

On By TommyIn Current Articles, The Lindeman Daily1 Comment

“Tired a lot, nauseous, a ton of weird cravings….” listed off Philadelphia resident T. Lindeman. “Occasional mood swings and weird cramps.

“And that’s not even getting into what my wife is dealing with.”

When L. Burton announced to her husband that she was pregnant, Lindeman took it with all the enthusiasm and excitement in the world. Little did she know the immense impact it would have on his body and lifestyle.

“I can’t let him shop by himself,” explained Burton. “He’ll beeline to the ice cream aisle and start loading up the cart.” For any other man, this wouldn’t be an issue. However, Lindeman has what doctors are calling “a disgusting degree of lactose intolerance.”

“I normally don’t even like ice cream,” whined Lindeman. “It’s these damn pregnancy cravings!”

Lindeman is adamant that his body is experiencing a “sympathetic pregnancy,” which can be found in many tomes of medical literature next to the chapter on snake oil.

“It’s absolutely wild the effect this has on the human body,” said Lindeman. “I’ve definitely been feeling the mood swings, especially when driving. I’ve never experienced road rage before!”

Burton confirmed this behavior, but said it was nothing new. “[Lindeman] has always been the type to get emotional. He weeps during episodes of Love is Blind and Severance!” Lindeman chose not to respond to these allegations, except to say he was a “sucker for good television.”

But pregnancy isn’t all sappy TV, aggressive driving, and constant snacking. There are also downsides that Lindeman is acutely aware of.

“I don’t mind the sympathy cravings,” said Lindeman. “But it’s the physical toll—the sympathy morning sickness—that gets to me!”

Every morning like clockwork, sometime between 5AM and 10AM, Lindeman finds himself face-first in the toilet bowl. And no, he’s not having a morning slurp like a dog.

“Sick as a dog, more like!” Lindeman exclaimed. “All these new hormones rushing through my bod, there’s no wonder I keep vomming. But everyone says that’s just how it goes in the first trimester.” Unfortunately for Lindeman, he is already well into the second trimester.

“It’s not morning sickness,” said Burton, who by coincidence often joined Lindeman on the floor next to the toilet. “He’s just sick from drinking or eating too much the night before.”

When Lindeman heard this, he remarked “That’s her opinion. But doesn’t she feel better knowing that I’m going through all of this with her?”

“It doesn’t stop with the morning sickness,” furthered Burton. “He’s also producing what he calls ‘sympathy burps,’ and claiming the baby is giving him gastroparesis.

“I think he’s having too much seltzer water and ginger ale to, as he says, ‘settle his stomach from the pregnancy.’”

Without a doctor’s diagnosis, there’s no way to know for sure what’s causing it, claimed Lindeman. But Burton is a doctor, and she said it’s definitely the seltzer.

“Who knows?” shrugged Lindeman.

As the pregnancy stretches on, Lindeman has taken to having a “bit of a siesta” every day. From approximately 11AM to 6PM, Lindeman can be found curled up in bed, “catching flies with my honk shoes on, and maybe a couple of cartoon Zs coming out of my head.”

Is this affecting his job? Or his helping around the house? “Yes,” said both his bosses and his wife.

“The doctor said naps are vital to the growth of the baby!” Lindeman is heard to say as he curls up with a big fuzzy blanket.

In his endless pursuit to ensure the baby has the best possible future, Lindeman has also started sympathy nesting.

“Lauren [Burton] is getting a BBL,” said Lindeman, referencing what he calls the forthcoming Baby Boy Lindeman. “So we need to make sure there’s lots of cozy places for that thing to rest and be happy.”

Lindeman has helped paint furniture, given up his office for the nursery, and even brought in twigs, yarn, and shiny things before being told that’s not what “nesting” means.

Unfortunately for this publication, our interview with Lindeman led to a monologue.

“I don’t mean to make light of women’s experience with pregnancy,” said Lindeman as he made light of women’s experience, “but it is just as hard, if not harder, for men.

“Between the sickness, the crampings, the hormones, not to mention the sympathy incontinence we get after the birth, our bodies will never be the same. We are forced to give up our own bodily autonomy for the sake of our families—without any say in the matter! It’s my body, it should be my choice!”

“Who knew 40 seconds of passion would lead to nine months of discomfort?” responded Burton, referring to how uncomfortable Lindeman makes her with his new complaints and irritating behavior.

She isn’t the only one made uncomfortable by Lindeman, who left us with these final words:

“Ugh, I need to go. I think my milk is coming in.”

Self-Proclaimed “Funcle” Revels in Love of Five Nieces

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Hours after the girls wake up, Lindeman descends the stairs to bask in the glow of his nieces’ affections. Calling himself the “funcle” (a portmanteau of “fun” and “uncle”), Lindeman is ready for the nonstop positivity that only an uncle can receive.

So it came as a shock when each of them independently greeted him with a “Where’s Lauren [Burton, Lindeman’s wife]?”

“Obviously it isn’t what I expected,” says Lindeman. Undeterred, he prepares to win them over and experience all the best parts of hanging with kids under 4, without any of the diaper changes.

And what better opportunity to win them over than the Christmas season, when Lindeman could give them presents and catch them at their most holiday cheerful?

As a LEGO aficionado, Lindeman planned for ages to get Poppy her first LEGO set, and he spent hours picking out just the right one. On Christmas morning when she opened it up, she got right to work building and playing, before remembering that her new-found fun was a gift she had to thank someone for. With a big smile, she ran up to Lindeman and said the words he longed to hear:

“Where’s Lauren?”

This is not unusual. In fact, most of their conversations start and end with the same two words. When Lauren is in the room, Poppy sticks to her like glue. When she’s not in the room, Poppy is asking Lindeman where his wife is.

“Any interaction is a good interaction,” said Lindeman, clearly attempting to hide his tears. “Really! It’s the best!”

A few days later, Lindeman traveled up to Cape Cod to win over his other four nieces.

“It’s a numbers game,” explained Lindeman. “With four of them in the same house, one is bound to love me as their funcle.”

From the start, however, Lindeman’s optimism was unfounded. Seeing a large bag of Play-Doh ready for the molding, he asked the two older girls, Olivia and Charlotte, if they wanted to play Play-Doh. He received resounding no’s. A few moments later, Lindeman saw his wife playing Play-Doh with them.

Undeterred, Lindeman caught Olivia building a pillow fort on the couch. A master builder with years of experience (see: aforementioned love of LEGO), he knew he could help build something stable and stylish, fashionable and functional. When he offered to help, or even to just sit quietly next to her fort, she responded negatively.

“It was her own fort,” sniffled Lindeman. “I can understand wanting to accomplish a task all on your own.” Lauren was later invited to help build, and even enter, the fort.

Another niece, Zoe, was recovering from a bout of RSV. A little sluggish from the medicine, Zoe wasn’t too anti-Lindeman when he approached her, but she certainly didn’t go out of her way to be pro-Lindeman.

“AaaaaaAAAAAAaaahh!” said Zoe, when asked for comment.

The youngest niece, Avery, was at first an easy target for hanging out. At meal times, she would be locked in her height chair, unable to leave when Lindeman would sit next to her.

“It was great!” smiled Lindeman. “A highlight of my time for sure–aside from one small blemish.

The “small blemish” Lindeman was referencing was a moment when he was asked to watch the teetering toddler as she stumbled around the living room. At one point when Avery reached for his hand, she dropped before he could reach her — right onto her face.

“There was a lot of blood,” said Avery’s mother, who had to clean up the bloody nose. “[Lindeman] really shouldn’t be allowed unsupervised around anyone of any age.

“Funcle? More like lunkle.”

Still, some moments were sweeter than others. Olivia played with stamps for a while, and gave Lindeman a small piece of paper that said “mermaizing” with a picture of a mermaid. He opened it to find she had stamped tiny hearts inside. (Never mind the fact that she gave Lauren two stamps.) And Charlotte spent ten minutes handing out straws to everyone in the family.

“Even though she gave me a straw last,” said Lindeman, proudly displaying his yellow straw, “it still counts!”

And while normally Charlotte’s favorite thing to say to Lindeman is “No,” at bedtime she asked him for a kiss and a hug, and said “I love you.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s really a funcle moment,” said Lindeman. “But it makes being an uncle more than enough.”

Lindeman Leans into Self Care with Monthly Trips to the Nail Salon

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“I’ll have the usual,” calls T. Lindeman as he walks into Coco Blue Nail Spa in Old City, Philadelphia. Led to his massage chair, Lindeman dips his feet into the steaming water and releases an indulgent sigh.

After the staff confirms his actual order, they get to work on Lindeman’s toes for a monthly ritual that began approximately six years ago.

“We go together,” explains Lindeman’s wife, L. Burton. “When we were still in the throes of courtship, he wanted to celebrate whenever I finished a rotation in my residency.

“I thought it would be funny to invite him once, but he’s really taken to it, and maybe taken it too far.”

Aside from one foot massage gone wrong in Wuhan during a trip to China, Lindeman had never previously pampered his feet. But after his first trip with Burton to the nail salon, he realized that there could actually be a treatment for the ingrown toenails he had developed from decades of rowing in shoes too small for him. He didn’t actually have to suffer his whole life.

“And you get to pick a color!” Lindeman remarks. “The color is free, you might as well get something fun.” Lindeman also often upgrades his lacquer to gel because he’s, in his own words, “worth it”.

“At first, it was a little strange,” says one of the stylists at the salon. “We were a little apprehensive about this giant man coming in for pedicures every few weeks. But there is certainly a benefit to having him as a client.”

The staff usually assign new employees to work on Lindeman as his size-15 toes provide a big canvas for them to work with. But on occasion, he throws them a curveball and asks for a design drawn on his big toes. With newbies at his feet, the results are mixed: perfectly drawn pumpkins for Halloween; unicorns intended to delight his nieces that look like monstrous blobs; a lovely sunflower for his wife; and classy tuxedo “tuxetoes” for his wedding. As the design requests became more intricate, the stylists would have to call over others to help them get it done well, requiring Lindeman to spread his gratuity around to more of the staff. But, again in his words, he is “worth it”.

However, it isn’t all silly designs and glamorous leg massages. Some parts of the experience are simply not intended for someone of Lindeman’s size. Each time he walks in, they seat him in a massage chair. And each time they try to move his chair back to give his legs more room. But even all the way back, his legs are so folded up that his knees are near his neck.

“It’s mostly fine,” claims Lindeman from behind his own legs. “I just can’t use a laptop pad for my lap to put my laptop on.”

And he needs his laptop, as he spends his time in the chair “answering correspondence”. To whom he is actually corresponding, we may never know. But suspiciously, new articles for The Lindeman Daily post during his each of his appointments.

In fact, some might say The Lindeman Daily returned to life in one of those chairs. The publication had not seen a new article in several years before he started getting pedicures. Since then, there have been over a dozen new articles, a rehashed and relaunched website, and tons of merch.

“The merch is to pay for the pedis,” explains Lindeman, trying not to kick and giggle while they scrub his feet with the rough side of a sponge.

While off-put at first, the staff of the salon are now delighted whenever he walks in the door for the usual — a hot stone pedicure with lavender. Or mint if he was feeling particularly spicy.

Now, Lindeman is something of a fixture at the salon. But does he worry that he’s leaning too much into a traditionally feminine activity?

Beer in hand while someone rubs his feet with lavender and jasmine, Lindeman lets out another deep, relaxed sigh.

“There’s really nothing manlier than self care.”